In Valhalla's Shadows

by W. D. Valgardson

  “I think he’s expecting you to go over and thank him for the kitten. At least I think that’s what I heard him say,” Sarah said.

  “Just how did he say it? You think that dumb bitch would come over here and thank me for that bloody kitten?”

  “Something like that,” Sarah admitted.

  “I’d like to meet him,” Tom said.

  “I don’t think so,” Freyja replied. “Let’s go stand out on the porch. There’s a bit of a breeze there.”

  They went onto the porch and Freyja introduced him to a number of people. He said hello to Ingvar and Pearl and Dolly. Ben and Wanda and Derk were at the far end of the porch. Tom raised his hand and gave them a wave and Wanda waved back. He walked through the crowd, keeping his eye open for Albert Scutter. He had something he wanted to ask him. There was no sign of him, but Tom realized that about halfway down the veranda Rose was sitting at a table with her husband and her two children. She’d dressed up for the occasion, a yellow dress with a bright print. Her baby was in her lap. With her free hand, she was holding a paper cup so her daughter could drink through a straw. One of the girls who fell for the “Come and have a beer with me in the back of my truck,” he thought, and it dredged up his memory of the young woman who had come to his father’s door because her boyfriend had kicked her out. It never ends, he thought, and the thought made him feel crazy, like the way he imagined the woman who had been able to see the future but couldn’t get anyone to believe her must have felt. Her name eluded him, but his father mentioned her sometimes when his advice wasn’t followed at work. Cassandra and her curse, he remembered. He had protested when his father said the outcome of many situations is obvious. It will end badly. But he sometimes found himself saying the same thing to his kids and to the people he dealt with on the street.

  Rose’s husband—he assumed it was her husband—had turned his chair sideways, away from his wife, and was sprawled back, laughing at what a couple of his friends were saying. He held his empty beer bottle upside down, then went into the emporium. Tom took the opportunity to go over to her.

  “Hi,” he said, “Remember me? I was looking for Pearl.”

  She nodded, looked away, then looked down at the baby to avoid looking at him.

  “You live next door to Albert Scutter. I don’t see him here. Do you know if he’s at home?”

  “He’s away. He’s always away on weekends in summer. He goes to celebrations and craft fairs to sell his carvings.”

  He thanked her, and as he left he caught the eye of one of the Norns. He couldn’t tell which one, but he nodded to her and smiled and she came over.

  “I’m Urdh,” she said. “We really should wear name tags. It’s been this way all our lives. I heard that Freyja’s cat died.”

  “Yes,” he replied. “It’s been difficult for her.”

  “It may not be such a bad thing,” Urdh said. “It just appeared. Scratched at her door until she let it in.”

  “An abandoned kitten,” he answered. “It happens all the time.”

  “Perhaps,” Urdh said. “Do you know what a sending is?”

  He shook his head.

  “Someone who wishes you evil seeks an animal from the dead and sends it to do you harm. Did Freyja tell you that just after Ramses came, he scratched her and she got a very bad infection? She ended up in the regional hospital.”

  “A sending?” he said, uncertain how to reply.

  “Of course,” Urdh said, “you wouldn’t believe in those old religion things. Superstition. But it wasn’t necessarily a sending. It could have been a stefnivargur. That doesn’t include raising the dead.” She saw his look of skepticism. “Surely, as a police officer you’ve seen the depravity caused by jealousy, envy, resentment, all those sins the new religion talks about?”

  “Yes,” Tom agreed. “I saw the results every day. But why would anyone wish Freyja harm?”

  “Those who have more are envied. Is that not so, Constable Parsons? A man with only one dollar can envy a man with two dollars. What is that old Greek saying? ‘Dear Lord, give me a goat and kill my neighbours.’”

  “A cat is sometimes just a cat,” Tom said.

  Tom rejoined Freyja just as Siggi came up to her and said, “I thought you might have said thank you for the kitten.” He ignored Tom.

  Freyja froze, then she put her hand under Tom’s arm and gripped it tightly. “Thank you for the kitten. That was very thoughtful of you. This is Tom Parsons. He’s a Mountie.”

  “We’ve met. I know who he is. Ex-Mountie. Unprofessional conduct or something.”

  “That wasn’t thoughtful,” Freyja said. Her voice had gone cold, her words clipped. The conversation on the veranda had quieted as people watched and listened. “You just cancelled out your Brownie points. You’re back to zip.”

  “I wanted to talk to you in private,” Tom said to Siggi.

  “Sure,” Siggi said. “Anytime. I’m quite willing to discuss how hot she is in bed. You want a blow-by-blow description?” He emphasized the word blow.

  Freyja didn’t say anything for a moment, but she didn’t look away from Siggi either, and Tom thought they were experienced fighters. When Freyja did reply, her voice was low, emotionless, threatening. “Don’t push it, Siggi. You want to talk in public about business?” Freyja said.

  “Fuck you,” Siggi snarled and turned on his heel and went back to his friends. More people had stopped talking and were watching the encounter. As Siggi went back to his table, he smacked the vegetable basket with his open hand. There were no vegetables left and the basket simply flipped off the table onto the floor.

  “That didn’t go well,” Tom said.

  “Shut up,” Freyja said. “Shut up, shut up.” But she said it quietly, and he wasn’t sure if she was saying it to him or to herself or to Siggi. She held tightly onto his arm, leaned her head against his shoulder and briefly closed her eyes.

  Two women who’d watched the confrontation waved at Freyja, and she left Tom to go over to them. Vidar was nearby, standing by himself. Tom joined him.

  “Siggi’s not the friendliest guy when it comes to his possessions,” Vidar said. “He wasn’t any good at sharing even in elementary school. He was always getting into wrestling matches. We’d call three strikes and he’d start yelling they weren’t strikes, or he’d swing and miss and then say it didn’t count.”

  Just then Karla came by with her arm through the arm of one of the yachters dressed in whites. He was fat, and his belt separated his stomach into two parts. His face was bright pink from the heat.

  “What do you think?” Tom asked, tipping his head toward Karla.

  Vidar shrugged. “The Danish songbird?”

  “Danish? Her last name’s Kerr. It doesn’t sound Danish.”

  “People change their names to get ahead. Kerr was Kjærgaard. Too long.”

  “You don’t seem to approve.” As they were talking he saw Dolly go over to Siggi, and he put his arm around her and hugged her. She was laughing at something he said. He let her go, but she stayed close beside him.

  “It’s nothing. Just that the Danes ruled Iceland,” Vidar held up his clenched hand, “with an iron fist. They controlled everything. They said who you could trade with. How much you got for your wool and meat and fish. They set the prices they would pay for nails, horseshoes, tobacco, sugar. Everything. They sold the Icelanders mouldy grain and cheap brandy. Shiploads of cheap brandy.” He smiled briefly. “It’s history now, but we don’t forget. Nothing changes, does it? People come here and the system follows. The Icelanders catch the fish and the Danes are the merchants.”

  “She had a good career, I heard.”

  Vidar gave a twisted grin. “Motels, bars, that sort of career. Won the weekly prize on some radio station once. That was the top. Successful from here to Winnipeg.”

  “How did they end up here?”


  “She’s from here. Horst had got sick from asbestos. He has a pension. Not much. He was trying to be a promoter. Going to make all these people famous. She didn’t become famous. He didn’t make anyone famous. They were in a bad way until they got the store from her parents.”

  “They look like they’ve got a good business.”

  “You thinking of buying?”

  Tom laughed. “I’d rather clean toilets.” Tom went back inside. Barbara was clearing tables. He got her attention and she came over. He told her again what a good voice she had and how well she’d sung the ballads. He asked her if she’d been a friend of Angel’s. Barbara said yes and looked downcast.

  “Were you going to be in Angel’s band?”

  “Maybe,” Barbara said. The tub she was carrying held dirty cutlery and plates. She looked exhausted. The skin under her eyes was dark, and her face was slack. “We were thinking different music, you know? Not C&W.

  He asked if she wanted to be a singer, but Barbara shook her head. “Miss Karla doesn’t think I’ve got the looks. Or the right kind of voice.”

  “There are lots of different kinds of music. It’s not just country and western.” Since they’d started talking, she’d never looked directly at him. He tried to catch her eye, but her gaze was fixed on the table.

  “She’s got her favourites,” Barbara added, and her voice was full of hurt. He wanted to tell her that being excluded by some people was of no account; their worlds were small and narrow. But he remembered what it had been like at school, and he knew that telling her being popular wasn’t important would be a lie. “They get the best tables. They get to cater the parties on the boats and at the cottages. They’re the ones with talent. It’s important for them to meet the right people.”

  “Catering?” he said. That was a new twist, but it made sense. It would be pretty hard to cook for a party on the yachts and sailboats. Even in the cottages, catering would be the way to go.

  Suddenly, Barbara started piling dishes into her tub. Tom turned to see that Karla was watching them. He waved at her, but she didn’t wave back. Barbara scuttled away, her head down and her body pulled tight. Freyja came in just then and joined Tom at their table.

  The confrontation with Siggi had taken a lot of fun out of the evening, but Freyja was determined not to let him chase her away. If she did that, she said, he’d chase her away from every event and she’d be totally isolated. There were already enough people who kept their distance from her for fear of being drawn into the conflict.

  The evening was noisy, with more of the crowd joining in the singing, playing the instruments they had brought, clapping, dancing in the small space in front of the band and out on the veranda. It was obvious that some people’s drinks had more in them than lemonade or cola.

  When the evening was over, Tom walked back to Freyja’s with her, and she asked him to come in. Just in case Siggi wanted to keep the argument going, she said.

  “You and him fighting,” he said. “Is that what you were expecting?”

  “No,” she said. “I don’t want any fighting.”

  “I saw lots of that—in bars, outside bars, at weddings. You’d be surprised at the number of brawls at weddings. They aren’t happy events for a lot of people—too much jockeying, too much jealousy, too much power tripping and hurt feelings. We had to break up a fight once between the groom and the best man. Apparently, the best man and the bride had been getting it on before the wedding. You and Siggi fight. It’s a kind of power trip.”

  “I don’t know why I like you,” Freyja said. In the distance, people were shouting good night and vehicles were starting up and driving away. “You analyze stuff too much. Can’t you just live in the moment?”

  “My father started showing me how to play chess when I was two.”

  “I’m not a chess game. If Siggi was here, he’d be ripping my clothes off.”

  “Give him a call,” Tom said. “I’m doing my best not to rip your clothes off. You’re beautiful. You’re gorgeous. I’m thinking about consequences.”

  “Are you worried that I’ll move into your house? That I’ll quit teaching and claim half your pension? Do I look like I’m dependent?” When he didn’t reply, she moved over to the couch and sat beside him. She used her toes to push off a running shoe, then changed feet and pushed off her other shoe. “There,” she said, “I’m partly undressed.” She pulled off her blue sports socks with a happy face on them. She held up her feet. “Aren’t feet ridiculous things? Still, as feet go, don’t I have beautiful feet?” She wiggled her toes and he wanted to hold her feet, with their feeling of life, and hear her laugh in anticipation, as they would both know where holding her feet would lead.

  “Consequences,” he said. His father’s face was stiff and his mother’s mouth was pursed with disapproval.

  Freyja slipped her arms inside her blouse, reached behind her and undid her bra, pulled it out one sleeve. “Nice, eh?” she said and held it up. It was pale blue.

  “Are you worried about money?” she asked. “You’re a financial mess. I’m a financial mess. I’ve got a teacher’s pension plan of sorts when I retire. You’ve got a government pension of sorts. Or are you afraid of Siggi?”

  “No, I’m not afraid of Siggi.” Tom said, but he was distracted by the scent of her, the way her red hair fell over the side of her face, the fullness of her lips and the soft way her breasts now moved under her blouse. “I shouldn’t have said that about you wanting him and me to fight. You didn’t do anything to provoke him.”

  Just as he leaned over to kiss her there was the roaring of truck motors, and suddenly there were two lifted trucks circling the house. The drivers were leaning on their horns. Freyja and Tom jumped up and ran to the back door. Tom shoved the door open and stepped out onto the landing, and Freyja came out behind him and threw something at one of the trucks. The trucks raced back to the road and disappeared.

  When the noise of the trucks had faded Tom said, “Did you see who that was?”

  “I don’t need to see who it was. I know who it was.” Tears of frustration and anger ran down Freyja’s cheeks. “Shit,” she said. “That was one of my good mugs. An Amara. It cost me thirty dollars.”

  “You missed the truck. Maybe it didn’t break.”

  Freyja got a flashlight and they went searching. The mug was sitting handle up. Freyja picked it up and held it to her chest.

  “Maybe you should make a formal complaint.”

  She laughed hysterically. “The last time one of our local girls made a formal complaint, two Mounties picked her up to take her back to the station for questioning. Do you want to hear what happened on the way there?”

  He refused to be distracted. “Can’t you talk to Siggi? Make a deal? Dolly says he’s not so bad.”

  “Dolly? Dolly! Her husband left for work up North two years ago and hasn’t come back. He sends her a cheque now and again. She’s got the hots for Siggi, but any guy who’s willing to pay the bills will do. Do you think she’s selling donuts and making meals because she’s got nothing better to do? She hates my guts because she wants Siggi to forget about me. Her dream is for Siggi to get his house back and ask her to move in with him.”

  “Oh, God,” Tom said. “What next?”

  “Yes,” Freyja said angrily, “what next?”

  “Why don’t we go for a late-night swim? The lake is calm. The moon’s out. Do you like swimming?”

  “Yes, fine, I love swimming.” She was on the verge of shouting. She caught hold of his arm with one hand and gripped it tightly. She leaned her forehead against his shoulder, took a couple of deep breaths and said, “I love swimming, but I never go at night. It’s too spooky. I’d be scared to go alone.”

  She went into her bedroom and came out in a green bikini, flip-flops and a short white robe that came just past her hips. She put a towel and a blanket into a cloth bag
, then got a bottle of wine out of the fridge and two wine glasses from the cupboard. She gave him the glasses and a corkscrew. She put the wine in her bag.

  White’s was dark by then, but a couple of the boats in the harbour had lights on. In the silence, the occasional sound of metal on metal or glass on metal carried. There were muffled bursts of laughter and the faint sound of voices. People were keeping the party going.

  “Swimming after midnight,” Freyja said. “Who would have thought? Siggi would never go swimming. He’s terrified of the water. When he was a kid, he got thrown off the dock once and didn’t know how to swim. Somebody jumped in and dragged him off the bottom. Ingvar maybe. He won’t even go wading.”

  “The beach in front of my place is rocky. Is there a better place?”

  “Over a bit to the south there’s a bit of sand. Sometimes, I go there during the day. No tourists.”

  The moon filled up the sky, a great golden disc so close it felt like Tom could reach up and touch it. He lifted his right hand with his fingers spread to hold the moon and Freyja laughed. He went into his house, pulled on his swim trunks and found a towel. Put a package of condoms into the pocket of his swim trunks. Freyja waited for him at the picnic table and he didn’t encourage her to come in, because he knew that if she did, they’d never make it to the lake, and he wanted that, swimming together in the moonlight.

  Tom took Freyja’s hand as they silently threaded their way through the trees like conspirators with a secret until they came to a small patch of sand guarded by two projections of limestone, looking in the darkness like they might be the fallen walls of an ancient fortress. Freyja spread out the blanket and set the wine bottle in the water with the glasses beside it. She took off her short robe and in the light of the moon she was touched with silver.

  “There’s rocks for a bit. Keep your sandals on until we get past them,” she said. They waded into the water that had been so warmed by the sun that there was no shock to it. He threw his sandals onto the shore and Freyja threw her flip-flops. “There are bits of current that run along the shore,” she said. “They’re not strong. If you get caught in one, don’t fight it. Just swim with it. It’ll peter out.”